


The Strangest Things Happen When You Work at Starbucks

by TristansGirl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam. Tommy. Vampires. Coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strangest Things Happen When You Work at Starbucks

The dreams start a month after his 23rd birthday. Tommy doesn’t think there’s anything particularly significant about the timing. In his mind they are two facts without correlation - a month ago he had a birthday, a month ago the dreams came.

There have been three of them so far and every one has been the same. There is always a stranger, a man whose face he never sees. It is always dark. And he is always drowning.

Always drowning but never afraid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy stumbles over to the bathroom and drags a hand across his face. Peering into the mirror, he does not like what he sees.

His face reflects his exhaustion. His skin is a little too pale, the smudges under his eyes a little too dark.

He runs trembling fingers over the small marks on the side of his throat. They’re tender, raw. Touching them makes his entire body shudder, drawing from him a deep nausea, and he drops his hand from them quickly.

He doesn’t know what they are. He’s not sure if he wants to know. Every time he thinks of them, horrible concepts enter into his mind. Disease. Cancer. Does cancer start like this? He doesn’t know.

Or possibly, he could be doing this to himself. Hurting himself in his sleep. He’s never sleepwalked, sleeptalked . . . never done anything in his sleep except sleep. Now, he’s not so sure.

He turns away, toward the shower. He is afraid, terribly so, but he has a place that he needs to be. The world, unfortunately, does not stop for his fear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Right around the same time that the dreams came into his life, something good came into his life as well.

Not something, though. Someone.

His name is Adam and he comes into the Starbucks where Tommy works at least four times a week, always just after the sun has settled deep into the horizon and its rays are nothing but a memory.

Adam is smart and funny and sweet. He has pale, freckled skin and dark, unruly hair and eyes that, when focused on someone, makes them feel like the only person in the room.

Or maybe that’s just Tommy. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he has a crush on Adam.

He just wishes that he knew how Adam felt about him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, you ok?”

Tommy looks up into Adam’s blue eyes and sees concern there. He has just handed over Adam’s drink, but there is no one else in line and Adam is lingering.

“Oh, um . . . what?”

Adam leans on the counter, coffee forgotten to the side. “I was just asking if you were ok. You look tired.”

And Tommy is tired. So tired, he could collapse right here. “I haven’t been sleeping very well, that’s all.”

“Bad dreams?”

Tommy remembers the feeling of drowning, remembers that it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Not exactly.”

Adam nods, his face going thoughtful. Tommy expects him to take his coffee and meander over to a table. He doesn’t. What he does is lean in even closer.

“That’s an interesting mark you have on your neck.”

“Oh, that.” Tommy’s fingertips graze it and he immediately wishes he hadn’t. The nausea is back, a pale ghost of what it was, but still enough to make his stomach lurch. He usually covers the mark with his collar, he must have forgotten to this time.

“Hickey?” Adam asks, his eyebrows moving up and down suggestively.

Tommy can’t help but laugh. It feels good to do so, to let the worry go, even if for a few seconds. “Not a hickey,” Tommy says. “Definitely not a hickey.”

Adam pulls away, once more looking thoughtful. “No, I didn’t really think it was.”

Tommy resists the urge to touch it again. His fingers hover right above it though, precariously close. “I don’t know what it is, honestly. Started about a month ago. It starts to heal, and then, overnight, it’s back.” This time he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you think it might be, like . . . cancer?”

Adam smiles then, a brilliant flash of white. It’s a nice smile, warm and it makes Tommy want to crawl over the counter and wrap himself all over him.

“It’s not cancer. I’m not a doctor, but I can promise you that.”

“Do you know what - ”

The front door opens just then, admitting in a party of three young women, all huddled together against the cold.

Tommy straightens, wishing fervently for a do-over as he watches Adam grab his cup. He’d wanted to impress Adam, make him laugh, start an interesting conversation. He hadn’t meant to unload his weird, medical issues on him. Now, Adam probably thinks that he’s got an STD or something. He’ll likely never come in here again.

The women are almost at the counter now and Adam is stepping away, making room for them. Tommy desperately tries to think of something to say. Something cool and witty. Something that will make Adam want to stay.

He’s doing a piss-poor job of it though. He’s got nothing and Adam’s turning to leave.

Tommy resigns himself to just wishing Adam goodnight, when the other man stops and angles his head toward him.

“You should be careful at night, Tommy. Los Angeles is a dangerous city.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, after his shift has ended and he’s back home, Tommy thinks about his encounter with Adam and those last words.

They call to mind something that happened just a few nights before his birthday. He’d been walking to his car after locking up when he’d felt very distinctly that someone was watching him. He’d looked around, saw no one and hurried to his car.

He’d been fine in the car, but once he’d made it home and had stepped outside, he’d felt it again. Someone was close by. Someone was watching him. He’d tentatively called out the name Ryan before hurrying into the safety of his apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him, trying not to shiver as he pulled all the blinds closed.

Remembering it now makes him feel sick and afraid. He huddles under the covers in bed and curses what feels like paranoia.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, a small package arrives in the mail with no return address.

Tommy opens it carefully, curious.

Inside is a small jewelry box. He opens that, gasping a little when he sees what’s inside.

A small silver crucifix.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t wear it.

Not after he asks everyone he knows if they sent it to him and everyone denies it. He puzzles over it, until he remembers Ryan. He remembers the threats and the craziness; the restraining order that he’d almost had to get.

Tommy stares at the crucifix and wonders. But no . . . he hasn’t heard from Ryan in months and something this subtle was never Ryan’s style.

He’s tempted to throw it out, has it in his hand right over the trashcan when he reconsiders.

He’ll keep it for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later he has another dream.

The next morning, he falls on the way to the bathroom. He crawls the rest of the way there, then somehow manages to pull himself into the shower. He accidentally touches the marks on his throat as he washes his hair. He spends the next twenty minutes retching and sobbing.

He calls in sick that day and the next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a slow night and Adam stays at the counter after he’s been given his coffee.

Tommy, despite knowing that he looks like shit, flirts outrageously with him. He’s not quite sure, but he thinks that Adam’s flirting back. Either way, he’s enjoying himself and everything’s going well until Adam casually says, “You’re not wearing it.”

“Huh?”

“My gift. You’re not wearing it.”

And because he can see that Tommy still doesn’t quite understand, Adam taps his own chest.

The crucifix.

“You sent that?”

Adam nods.

“I didn’t know . . . I thought it might have been . . . wait a minute. How did you know where to send it? How do you know where I live?”

“I followed you.”

For a moment, all Tommy can do is stand there, wide eyed and gaping. He stutters instead of speaking, tripping over every syllable. “You . . . what . . . you . . . ?”

“I followed you.”

“Why would you . . . why wouldn’t you just . . . ”

“Calm down, Tommy,” Adam says, his voice steady, sounding almost bored. “There’s no reason to get upset.”

Tommy finds his words at last. “Yes, there is. That’s something stalkers do. That’s creepy, Adam.” Tommy’s talking too loudly; he knows this. He’s aware that his co-workers are turning to look at them. He can almost feel their questioning looks against his back.

Adam looks down at his watch as if everything is normal, as if there weren’t a man growing hysterical only two feet away from him.

“I have to go.”

“What?”

But Adam’s already walking toward the door, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets.

He stops at the door and turns. “Tommy . . . ”

“Yeah?”

“Have you had any more nightmares?”

Tommy doesn’t see any reason to lie. “Yeah.”

“Wear the crucifix.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s drowning again. And this time, he is afraid.

As always, the man above him is wrapped in shadow, but Tommy imagines that it is Adam. Adam, whom he imagines is his new stalker, whom he suddenly wishes he’d never been attracted to, never met.

A part of him is tempted to give in, let himself drown, curious as to whether drowning in dreams means that he’ll never wake up again.

Another part of him is tired of all of it. Sick and tired and angry. This is the part of him that pushes his body awake and snaps his eyes open, bringing his mind to full consciousness.

He never, not in a million years, expected to find someone above him, an actual person straddling his body.

He gasps, tries to back away, but although his mind is alert and in high gear, his body feels languid and heavy.

“Well, look who’s awake,” the man above him says.

Tommy knows that voice, knows it very well even though he hasn’t heard it in months.

“Ryan?” It hurts to speak, the pain originating at his throat is radiating all through his head and down his neck.

Ryan shifts and a second later the light from the bedside lamp floods the room. Tommy closes his eyes against its harshness only to tentatively open them a few seconds later.

“Tommy.” Ryan smiles as he says his name. He runs his hand through Tommy’s hair, before settling it on Tommy’s bare chest. “I’ll be honest, I’m glad you woke up. Molesting you in your sleep has been getting kind of old.”

“Get off of me,” Tommy says and tries to push Ryan away. His body is still refusing to cooperate and the gesture is feeble and pitiful.

Ryan just laughs, taking hold of Tommy’s wrists and pinning them up above his head. “I like that fight in you, Tommy. I always have. Like the time you threatened me with the restraining order. But the fact is that we’re very close now. Only a couple more times at most, and you’ll be all mine.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“No, no, I’m really glad you woke up. This is going to be good. This is going to be so good.”

Tommy tries to move his arms, to tug them up, out of Ryan’s grip. The thing is, Ryan’s grip feels like steel around his wrists and that is incredibly bizarre because Ryan is a twig and there is no way he can have that kind of strength.

Tommy wants to be angry. But instead he is so very tired, and so very scared because the things that Ryan is saying and the way he is looking at him right now . . . Tommy has never felt so vulnerable and he knows that whatever is going to happen here will not be good.

Ryan leans down, his grip never loosening from Tommy’s wrists, and laps at Tommy’s mouth. Tommy turns his head with a small sound of disgust.

“Don’t.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Ryan whispers against the lower curve of his jaw. “Not anymore. I have the power now, Tommy. I own you.”

And with that Ryan’s lips are against Tommy’s throat, the sharpness of his teeth already tugging at the skin.

Tommy struggles with everything he has, desperate to get away, to stop this from happening. “Stop. Ryan, stop.”

He barely manages to move Ryan, much less dislodge him. He wonders, in a hazy sort of fear, when Ryan became the immovable object.

“Last time I checked, no meant no. Even for a guy, asshole.”

Tommy turns his head toward the new voice.

Adam.

Tommy should be surprised, but he’s not. He’s being assaulted in his bedroom by the man of steel. He feels nothing can surprise him anymore.

A second later he is proven wrong.

Ryan turns toward Adam too, eyes feral and angry. He snarls, his mouth opening impossibly wide before he hisses. At first Tommy’s not sure that he heard right. People don’t hiss. Not like that - like some kind of jungle cat. Except that Ryan is hissing. He’s still doing it - his mouth open and lips drawn back to show his teeth.

His long, sharp teeth.

And then, as Tommy watches, wrists still held captive in Ryan’s grip, Adam moves forward and drives what can only be a stake into Ryan’s back.

Ryan arches his body, teeth gnashing together as he howls in what sounds like the purest agony. Tommy feels the grip around his wrists loosen as Ryan shudders violently.

A moment later, Ryan’s eyes close and his body goes limp, falling onto Tommy’s heavily.

Tommy blinks, flexes his hands and wonders if he hasn’t gone crazy. He feels like laughing and he feels like sobbing. He thinks maybe that he might start doing both.

Adam grabs a hold of Ryan’s shoulders and sends his body tumbling to the floor. Then he sits down on the edge of the bed, very close to Tommy and places one hand against Tommy’s cheek.

Tommy eyes are wild, his breaths coming in short, stuttered gasps. Adam’s eyes are calm, his expression warm, and his hand gentle. It centers Tommy - just a little, just enough. He gazes at Adam’s face, breath hitching when Adam leans in to speak.

“Didn’t I tell you to wear that crucifix?”


End file.
